


Double Cross

by missingnolovefic



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, BAMF!Ryan, Canon-Typical Violence, Dollface - Freeform, Fake AH Crew, Gen, Minor Character Death, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Torture, bamf!Meg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-15 00:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15400857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/pseuds/missingnolovefic
Summary: Meg has worked hard to be where she is. No one can stop her from proving herself.Not even the Vagabond.





	Double Cross

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LunarLover12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarLover12/gifts).



> First posted on July 23rd as Luna's birthday giftfic <3 I might change the date to that in a week or two to properly reflect that :D
> 
> She gave me Dollface, Vagabond, and Betrayal, and I ran with it. Enjoy!

“Found it!” Meg announced, setting the huge, fake Vermeer painting gently against the wall before looking back to the safe. Fingerprint lock. Easy enough to circumvent. Meg turned her attention to her silent companion. “You got our guy?”

The Vagabond grunted and left the room. Meg stared after him warily, fingers gliding over the handle of the knife strapped to her thigh. They’d worked great together - efficient, professional. But the way she caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn’t looking... Meg shook herself. Creepy motherfucker.

She just finished skimming over the file names in the drawers, when a body landed at her feet with a dull _thump_. She looked down and winced. That would leave horrible bloodstains in the carpeting.

“I assume that’s our guy?” she asked dryly, glancing up. The Vagabond crossed his arms and remained silent. Meg rolled her eyes. “Well, what are you waiting for? Use his prints to open the safe.”

She resolutely turned her back on him, closing the drawers. She could feel his eyes on her back and suppressed a shiver. Her every instinct told her to keep an eye on him, but she would _not_ give him that satisfaction. Somehow, she knew he would count that as a win.

Really, it was no wonder that people wanted him dead.

 _“Dollface,” the man greeted her. He had wispy, dark-grey hair and small, flinty eyes. She knew he was just the middleman to her_ actual _employer, but with his three-piece suit and little office get-up, it seemed that someone neglected to tell him._

_Meg smiled coyly, sitting down in front of his desk and crossing her legs._

_“Flynt,” she returned amiably, clasping her hands over her knee. “Was there something else you needed?”_

_They’d went over the job and their plan three days ago with her hired… ‘partner’ for the mission. Meg fought to keep her face blank. After running small assignments with this group for_ months _, completing job after job professionally, it irked her that they decided she needed_ help _on her first big assignment. As if her success rate was anything less than exemplary. But no, they’d put her together with the freakin’_ Vagabond _, and if the pay were any less she’d be flipping them the bird on the way out._

_As it was, she considered this her last… endeavour with this particular group. She could tell when she wasn’t wanted._

_“There is… a delicate matter that needs resolving,” Flynt stated with a tight smile. Meg narrowed her eyes at him._

_“The heist is tomorrow,” she pointed out sharply, gears whirring in her head. Where they going to pull her off the job? Leave it to Vagabond? While giving her another peanuts mission that she’d been doing for months now?_

_“Indeed it is,” Flynt agreed gently. “Which is why I feel like now is the perfect time to… entrust you with a- let’s call it, a special objective.” He steepled his fingers, elbows resting on the table. “I am sure you are aware of the Vagabond’s… reputation.”_

_Meg nodded shortly, brow furrowing. What was he getting at?_

_“If there is an… opening. An opportunity,” Flynt said slowly, twirling his mustache between his fingers. “To get rid of him… we want you to consider taking it.”_

_Meg froze, nails digging into her knee, unsure if she heard right. They wanted her to do_ what _?_

 _“You… want me to kill the_ Vagabond _,” she asked, heart stuck in her throat._

_“If an opportunity avails itself, yes,” Flynt confirmed, nodding benignly._

_The air in the small room felt heavy, the humid heat of Los Santos barely held at bay with a dying A/C. A small fan whirred on the desk, the only sound aside from the ticking clock on the wall. The Vagabond. A legend among mercenaries. No one knew his real name, no one had ever seen his face. The grim reaper, some called him. A hundred percent success rate, it was murmured._

_The real reason she got a partner on this job, Meg realized. They didn’t care about the corporate secrets they were stealing, valuable as they were to appear like a real target. No, this wasn’t about blackmail or political advantages or money._

_The real target was_ him _._

 _“If you think you’re up to the challenge, that is,” Flynt added with a self-satisfied smirk. Meg bared her teeth in a smile, recognizing the bait for what it was, but unable to stop herself rising to it. Finally, the chance to_ prove _herself._

_“I’m sure there’ll be plenty opportunities during the heist,” she drawled, uncrossing and crossing her legs as she leaned forward. “How do you want this played? Heist gone wrong? Accident? Shootout with security? Cops?”_

_“In any way that does not implicate this crew.” Flynt gave her a shrewd look. “In case you give the game away-” Meg opened her mouth to protest, and Flynt held up a hand to stop her. “-if he’s onto you, we will deny any prior knowledge of your… ‘personal vendetta’.”_

_Meg eyed his air quotes skeptically._

_“You want me to take the fall on this one,” she surmised flatly. Were they expecting her to fail? Flynt gave her a shrug, smirking._

_“Only if you mess it up.”_

_“I won’t,” Meg growled, standing up sharply. The chair scraped over the tiles noisily. She shot Flynt a frosty look. “If that’s all?”_

_Flynt leaned back in his chair, self-satisfied smile on his stupid face._

_“We still need the data. If you think you can handle both at the same time, Doll.”_

_“Just watch me,” she snarled, turning on her heels. She’d show them just what she was made of._

Meg could feel eyes on her the entire way out of the building. It made her skin crawl. The datastick was burning a hole into her pants, she was sure. Her fingers danced over the handle of her knife again, but… not yet.

It didn’t help that the Vagabond insisted on bringing up the rear. He was such a fucking professional, there just hadn’t been any opportunity yet. Not that she expected any differently from someone with his reputation, but did he _have_ to be the first man in _weeks_ not to underestimate her? Meg scowled. It would have been great, if they’d teamed up with no hidden motives. She was frustrated and impressed with him, and angry with herself for feeling that way.

“Our getaway is down the block,” she murmured. He didn’t respond, but then, she hadn’t expected him to. She spoke anyway, if only to break the silence. “Come on.”

Things started going wrong the moment they slipped out of the backdoor. The intruder alarm went off - not when they opened the door, but as it fell shut behind them.

“The fuck,” Vagabond exclaimed, and Meg threw him a startled glance. It was the first thing he’d said all night.

Vagabond was staring at the door incredulously. Meg bit her lip, eyes darting up to the alarms they’d disabled on their way in. The wires were still cut. She exchanged a look with Vagabond, his icy blue eyes drilling into hers. The skull mask made it hard to see his face, but he seemed as grimly surprised as she did.

“Let’s go,” Meg hissed, catching his sleeve and dragging him down the nearest alley. They stumbled over trash bags from overspilling dumpsters, big cardboard boxes and broken bits of furniture. Meg navigated their way through the back alleys carefully, calculating which would let them out closest to their car. They hadn’t parked too far off.

“This way.”

Vagabond followed her, not as quietly as they’d been moving before, but time was of the essence. Meg poked her head out at the end of the alleyway. The car was just across the street. Security guards were mingling further down the street, buzzing about like an angry beehive. Meg bit her lip. They had to be quick, before security swarmed out to search the area.

“Coast is clear, but not for long.” Meg reached up to adjust the white porzellan mask. It covered her forehead and eyes, leaving her nose and mouth free, in stark contrast to Vagabond’s full face mask. “Let’s go.”

An arm across her chest stopped her.

“Wait,” Vagabond muttered, eyes narrowed intently. Meg squinted at him, heart pounding in her chest as the yelling grew louder. They must be looking for them in the alleys first.

“What are y-”

A fiery explosion lit up his face. The arm across her chest tugged her in, and he turned, pulling both of them behind the dumpster. She stared at his lips, mouth opening and closing, before she realized he was talking. Meg shook her head, trying to rid herself of the ringing in her ears. Vagabond seemed to realize the problem. He cocked his head and held out his hand.

Time seemed to freeze.

The explosion - that was their getaway car. Only they knew where they’d parked it- were those proximity mines or a timer? When did he plant them? Meg fingered her knife as her thoughts raced ahead. Did he sabotage the alarm? Why was he trying to kill her? Did it matter?

She reached for his hand. When he pulled her up, she’d use the momentum to sink the knife between his ribs. From there, it should be easy to kill him.

_How do you want this played? Heist gone wrong?_

He pulled her up, and she froze, knife just short of his chest. Neither of them had bothered with armoured vests - too expensive, too restrictive for what they needed - but the leather jacket could stop a knife if she didn’t put enough force behind it. A missed opportunity, but…

“Ambush or set-up?” she asked, voice a little too loud to be heard through explosion-deaf ears.

The Vagabond tensed, springing back. His eyes darted from her, to her knife, to the burning wreckage of their planned getaway. Meg shifted her feet, steadying her stance. There wasn’t much room in the alley- barely three feet between them, each of them with their backs to opposite walls.

“There doesn’t have to be two of us,” Vagabond rasped, almost to himself, so quiet Meg barely caught it. Then he lunged forward, his own knife appearing in his hand. Meg dropped to the side, slipped on a piece of paper and cursed. She caught herself with her free hand, knife slashing out at his shins, hoping to drive him back and give her some room to maneuver.

He jumped over her, his foot catching her hip as she darted up. Meg whirled around, blocking his knife with her own.

“Why?” she snarled, ducking low. Vagabond jumped back just in time to avoid her attack, tip of her knife catching his jacket and tearing a rip into it.

“You’re not the first,” he growled, swiping at her chest. Meg twisted out of the way and under his guard, jamming her elbow into his ribs. Vagabond grunted, but dodged her follow up as she tried to jam her knife into his shoulder. “You won’t be the last.”

“Fucking psycho,” Meg spat, dropping low to sweep his legs out from under him. He caught her leg with one of his own, kicking it away.

“You’ll have to do better than that to kill me,” he sneered, and Meg paused.

Something was off.

She dodged his next attacks almost on autopilot as her mind raced. He’d picked her up, drove them here. A car bomb would have been much more practical. He could’ve told her to get the data out while he distracted their pursuers. Then she’d have blown up, providing a distraction for _his_ escape. Mines risked him getting caught in the blast radius, too.

The barked commands were getting louder, security would catch up with them soon. Vagabond took a step back, glancing warily over his shoulder. He seemed… concerned about their proximity. Meg tilted her head, taking in his body language. Tense, ready to flee-

“Why don’t you call your guard buddies over? Might give you a fighting chance,” Vagabond taunted, but there was a terseness to his voice…

“ _My_ buddies?” she asked, incredulous. “ _You_ pulled the alarm, jerkface.”

He stilled, eyes searching out hers unerringly. Meg lowered her knife because… If it hadn’t been him…

“A fucking set-up,” she muttered, cursing under her breath. Vagabond was watching her intently. “Stupid- I should have _seen_ that coming. Fucking assholes.”

“They didn’t send you to kill me,” Vagabond asked flatly. He didn’t sound like he believed it.

“Do I look stupid enough to run into an exploding car if I set up the mines myself?” Meg snarked, carefully neglecting to mention the extent of her orders. Vagabond lowered his knife, eyes flickering to the entrance of the alley.

“They’re coming,” he stated abruptly, and Meg grit her teeth. Vagabond’s eyes flickered her way, body language unreadable but… less tense, maybe. “For you,” he clarified. “They’re coming for both of us.” A thoughtful pause as he sheathed his dagger. “We need to leave.”

“No duh.” Meg snorted, but put her knife away as well. “Where to?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. She stepped closer, putting some distance between her and the mouth of the alley.

“Away, for now.”

She shot him an incredulous look because that _wasn’t_ a plan, but… The voices were getting louder, clearer- too close. She nodded shortly, tilting her head.

“This way.”

They lost any pursuers in the backstreets of downtown, quietly mingling amongst the runners and taggers. The criminals took one look at their masks and gave them a wide berth. Meg pressed her lips together tightly, but there was nothing to do about it - not here. She circled around, past the warehouses, towards the harbour.

“Masks off,” she murmured to her silent companion as she pulled down her own. She clipped it to her belt, slipping out of her jacket and tying it around her waist, double-checking the white was covered completely. Then went the hair-tie, snapping around her wrist as she shook out her hair.

Meg stilled, glancing up between purple strands. The Vagabond was watching her, expression hidden behind that damn skull.

“Problem?” she inquired mildly, throwing her hair over her shoulder and straightening. His eyes darted from her, to her hip where she hid the mask, back over his shoulder. He hesitated, before raising his hands to his face. His fingers dug under the edges of his mask, the material denting - soft, unlike her mask, which made sense since his covered the entire head. She watched him roll it up and immediately recognized the problem.

“Facepaint? Really?”

Underneath the black skull he’d painted another on his face - mostly white, thankfully, it’d blend in if he wasn’t passing directly by a streetlight - but with black smudges around the eyes and stripes across the lips.

“A safety precaution,” Vagabond explained roughly, shrugging. Now that she could see his face, she could tell he was clearly uncomfortable.

“Right,” she drawled, shaking her head. It couldn’t be helped. She offered him her arm. “Stay close, and if anyone starts looking at you weird, hide your face against my shoulder.”

Vagabond frowned. “Won’t that draw their attention?”

“We’re a couple on a late night stroll along the pier.” Meg shrugged, linking their arms. “People won’t look too close at some PDA.”

Not that there was really anyone out there anymore. Half the lights were flickering, some remained dark. They walked down the pier in silence, listening to the crashing of the waves. The water was dark, glistening where the light hit. They were alone.

“They didn’t appreciate me,” Meg confessed quietly as she stared off into the distance. Next to her, Vagabond shifted, his attention on her. She didn’t acknowledge him. “Small jobs, test after test after test. Then finally, this one-” She scoffed, shaking her head. Her hands grabbed onto the railing. She should have known better. She _saw_ Flynt lay the bait down and still fell into his trap. “I was furious when they told me they hired someone else.”

Vagabond didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, but Meg felt no need to break it. Slowly, her shoulders relaxed, and she exhaled noisily.

“Well, looks like they want you dead,” she commented cheerfully, turning to look at him. He stared back at her, face serious.

“They want you dead, too,” he pointed out. Meg lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

“I’m collateral. You’re the real prize here.”

Vagabond scoffed, scorn dripping from his voice. “If they really think that, they are truly underestimating you.” He arched an eyebrow as she startled. “Or are you going to take this insult lying down?”

And let Flynt win? Meg lifted her chin and set her jaw. “Of course not!”

Vagabond held her gaze and nodded sharply. “Good. Where do we start?”

“Flynt is just the middleman, but he’s involved in pretty much everything. He’ll know what’s going on,” Meg replied instantly, before her brain caught up with his words and stalled out. “Wait. ‘We’?”

“Yes,” Vagabond returned slowly, giving her a deadpan look. “We have better chances if we team up. Unless you want to go at this solo?”

“No,” Meg said dazedly. She cleared her throat. “Duo is fine.”

She just… hadn’t expected the _Vagabond_ , of all people, wanting to team up. He was a notorious loner, after all. He must have gotten offers before - many gangs were chomping at the bit, salivating at the thought of adding the Vagabond to their ranks. But word had gotten around, it was better not to ask him.

And now- he _chose_ her. Out of convenience, her brain helpfully reminded her, but she shoved the thought away. Her chest was swelling with pride and validation, and she would enjoy that feeling while it lasted.

 

* * *

 

“Flynt?” a soft voice called out from the hallway. Coal tensed, hand dropping to his gun as his eyes darted up to the clock. Almost five in the morning, just on the brink of dawn. Reports had been coming in in bursts for the first hour, but slowed down to a trickle since. An explosion, a burning car. No bodies.

“Flynt?” the voice called again.

The door rattled, and Coal pulled the safety, hiding the gun under his desk. Then the door drifted open. A woman leaned in the doorway, purple hair framing her pale face in waves. A broken, crumbling mask sat on her nose, hiding one eye and leaving the other bare. Streaks of grey and red marred the once pristine porcelain. She was leaning heavily against the frame, one hand holding her side. It was hard to see if she was bleeding, her dark clothes doing a great job of hiding any wounds.

Jesus, she was supposed to be _dead_. Coal licked his lips nervously. “Doll?”

“Flynt,” she rasped, stumbling into his office. Her free hand reached out, fumbling until she bumped into the visitor’s chair. Then she collapsed, hair falling forward in a curtain, hiding her face. “I did it, Flynt.”

Her voice was low, gravelly. Barely above a whisper, and Coal had to strain to hear it. He leaned forward, closer, trying to catch the words between her ragged breathing.

“Did what, Doll?” he asked, enthralled.

She giggled, an exhausted, hysterical sound. Coal flinched.

“I got ‘im. I got ‘im good.”

She raised the hand not holding her side, and Coal’s eyes were drawn to the grey lump of material she grasped tightly. She dropped it onto his desk, and he stared uncomprehendingly for several seconds as it slowly unrolled, before-

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

A grinning skull looked back at him, smeared with ash and charred, but unmistakable. The Vagabond’s mask.

He exhaled shakily, clicking the safety back on and dropping the gun on the desk. He reached out with trembling fingers and pulled the mask closer. It was burnt in place, the material melted stiff. He pulled his hand away and rubbed his fingers, flakes of ash and dried blood falling onto his desk.

“The body?” Coal asked absently, his voice sounding strangely distant to his own ears. He hadn’t expected her to pull it off and come back _alive_. That wasn’t the plan.

“In an alley between some dumpster. Just another dead body, nothing to lead back to us, don’t worry,” she waved him off, giggling breathlessly.

Coal glanced up and stared. She was supposed to die, trying to betray one of the worst mercenaries out there. Take him down with her, if possible, but Coal prided himself on being a realist, she’d leave him wounded at best. Which is why he’d tipped off security and had his guys chase after them - to take the shot once Dollface went down.

Instead here she was, grinning at him triumphantly.

“Good job,” Coal murmured, absently fiddling with the mask. His eyes darted to his gun. Only a small change of plans, really. “No loose ends,” he muttered under his breath.

“Sorry?” Dollface inquired. She sounded woozy - a closer glance at her face revealed a trickle of dried blood at her temple, mostly hidden by her hair. Concussion, Coal concluded as he stood up, casually reaching for his gun. This should be easy.

“Nothing.” Coal cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”

“Are you now,” a deep voice rumbled from behind him. Something hard and cold pressed between his shoulder blades. Coal froze, fingers inches away from the gun. A strong hand grabbed him by the wrist, wrenching his arm behind his back. He grunted in pain, eyes flicking from the gun out of his reach and up.

In front of him, Dollface straightened from her slouch, pulling out her throwing knife. She leaned back in the chair, tipping backwards, propping her feet on his desk as her gaze sharpened. The knife danced across her knuckles.

“Flynt, Flynt, Flynt,” she tutted, rolling her shoulders. She flipped the knife into the air and caught it. “You’ve always underestimated me, haven’t you, darlin’?”

“What-” Coal licked his lips, trying to catch a glimpse of his captor. The grip on his arm tightened. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice?” Dollface drawled, arching her visible brow. “I admit, tripping the alarm was a nice touch, though your timing could have been better. Tagging the car? That’s just showing your hand, darlin’.”

Coal’s eyes widened. Blood rushed through his ears, making it hard to focus on the words, and his heart lodged in his throat. All he could hear was the beat of his own heart and the heavy breath brushing over his neck. It couldn’t be- it had to be-

“W-what… What are you-” he stammered, his breathing quickening. A dark chuckle behind him, and fuck. He was fucked. The Vagabond was about to kill him, he could see it reflected in Dollface’s cold eyes. And the plan had been so perfect, too.

_“They wanted you to kill me,” Ryan said quietly. The woman on his arm tensed. “That was the plan, right?”_

_She exhaled sharply, forcing her shoulders to relax before tossing her head back and giving him a toothy grin._

_“How’d you guess?” Her tone was light, playful. Hiding the sharp glint in her eyes, calculating how quickly she could shove her knife into his side, and that- yeah. He didn’t understand how anyone could underestimate her._

_Ryan shrugged, watching her out of the corners of his eyes._

_“They might have offered me your cut if, uh, something ended up happening to you.”_

_He kept his gaze straight ahead as she gaped at him, incredulity turning into fury._

_“They_ what _,” she spat, coming to a sudden stop. Ryan took another step forward before he turned around, putting a wary distance between them. Dollface glared at him, fists clenched tightly at her sides._

_“They put a bounty on your head,” he repeated slowly, tensing as she grit her teeth._

_“Those_ bastards _!” Dollface fumed, her jaw working furiously. Her eyes narrowed, catching his in an intense stare. “They tried to play us. They set us against each other to… what?” She bared her teeth, and Ryan raised his hands in surrender. “To eliminate each other. I wonder…”_

_“There must have been a back-up plan to deal with the winner,” Ryan offered cautiously. Dollface snorted, her expression smoothing out._

_“The security guards. I bet that’s why the alarm went off.” She rolled her shoulders, teeth grazing over her lip as she thought. “The explosives were sloppy.”_

_“I didn’t plant them,” Ryan shot back defensively. Dollface startled, looking up at him, taking in his careful stance. Then she walked up to him, bumping his shoulder._

_“No, you didn’t,” she agreed wryly, eyes dancing with amusement. “But does Flynt know it didn’t work?”_

_Ryan furrowed his brow as she pulled out her porcelain doll mask. A simple, yet effective thing. Dollface dropped it to the ground, and Ryan flinched as she stomped her heel down. The mask broke in half, and Dollface picked up the larger half to inspect._

_“Do you have a lighter?”_

_“I do,” Ryan agreed warily, fumbling in one of his pockets. You never knew when one might be useful, if only to set off a fire alarm or to scorch a lense. He held the lighter out to Dollface, eyeing her sharply. “You have a plan?”_

_“I do.” Her teeth flashed in a smile._

The knife twirled over her hand and landed with a heavy _thunk_ on his desk, burrowing into the heavy wood. She leaned forward, not breaking eye contact as she pulled it back out, her feet dropping to the floor.

“You will tell us _everything_ ,” Dollface said breathlessly. Coal stared at her with wide eyes, took in the smirk on her face and the Vagabond at his back, and opened his mouth.

He spilled. Everything he knew, and by the time the sun rose, Coal was found dead in his office with no trace left of his killers.

 

* * *

 

“The Corpirate,” Dollface repeated dully as the door slammed shut behind them. “The fucking _Corpirate_ of all people.”

Ryan dropped heavily on the chair, pulling off his combat boots. They couldn’t return to either of their hideouts until they were sure Coal’s men didn’t know about them. For now, they were stuck renting this dingy, little place just off the motorway.

“I take it you didn’t know who you were working for, then,” he stated dryly. Dollface paced up and down the length of the motel room, staying away from the single window.

“No fucking clue,” she admitted easily, dragging her fingers through her tangled hair and grimacing. “I need a shower.”

“Bathroom’s over there.” Ryan nodded his head. Dollface turned to eye the shabby door and wrinkled her nose. “You never asked?”

“You don’t just ask in this business, duh. I tried finding out, of course, but for all his faults, Flynt knew how to keep his mouth shut.” Except when confronted with two angry assassins, Ryan added in his mind. He watched as Dollface strode into the small bathroom, inspecting the inside. “The door doesn’t lock,” she reported dubiously.

“I’ll stay put,” Ryan promised. Dollface shrugged, grabbing some stuff from her duffel before vanishing in the bathroom, pushing the door closed. After a moment the sound of running water started.

Ryan took his time to dress down, checking the room for bugs and hiding his knife and gun in convenient spots. He wondered if Dollface would find them during her sweep, if she’d go to hide her weapons in the same places. The thought brought a smile to his lips. It’d been a while since he worked with someone competent. It was refreshing.

The Corpirate, however… Ryan frowned. That might prove a problem. There must be a reason he wanted them dead. Ryan knew he had quite the reputation, and even if Coal was too stupid to see it, Dollface must have made quite the impression on the Corpirate himself. But why target them, specifically? Or was he clearing out the ranks of freelancers in general? Why not just hire them instead? Dollface had been working for his underling already, why not use that?

He was still mulling over his thoughts when the shower stopped, and Dollface stepped out of the bathroom in a loose shirt and leggings, towel wrapped around her head. She paused in the doorway and squinted at him.

“No, Vee.”

Ryan gave her an innocent look. “What?”

“There’s no way the two of us can take him on and win. It’s a suicide mission.” She pointed at him and then hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “Go shower, asshole. Might clear your head.”

The shower didn’t bring any clarity or sudden insights, but at least he felt clean after, finally getting rid of ash and grime. Dollface was lounging on the bed when he stepped out, having pulled the sheets off and replaced them with a huge towel on her side. She stretched languidly, one eye cracking open when he threw his own towel over the other half of the mattress.

“We don’t know what the Corpirate wants,” he pointed out quietly, sitting down on the edge. The mattress shifted under his weight, and Dollface rolled onto her side to watch him. “He might keep hunting us.”

“We could blow up his operations here,” she suggested, propping herself up on her elbow. “I know where all the important stuff is. Send a message not to fuck with us.”

“Maybe,” Ryan agreed, his mind still stuck on the idea of going after the threat directly. He didn’t like the idea of knowing someone specific was out to get him. He felt paranoid enough already, he didn’t need the additional stress of keeping an eye out for the Corpirate’s schemes indefinitely.

Apparently, Dollface could read some of his thoughts on his face. She reached out and squeezed his hand.

“Vee,” she said gently. “It’s not worth it. We’d need an entire team to take him down for good. He’s too powerful, too protected.”

“Alright,” Ryan relented, mind latching onto a new thought. A team… “We’ll finish off his stash here, make sure he’ll have a hard time regaining a foothold in this city.”

“Right,” Dollface agreed, searching his face intently. Finally, she let go off his hand, dropping back onto the mattress with a huff. “Tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Ryan offered absently. His thoughts were still whirling around the new idea slowly taking form in his mind.

Dollface groaned. “Wake me in five hours or so.”

Ryan hummed agreeably. He’d need a hacker, to trace down the Corpirate and his connections. More muscle to deal with the goons. A getaway driver, a lockpick, a sniper to watch their backs…

 

* * *

 

“What do you want, Vee?” Meg answered her phone, cradling it between her shoulder and ear. “I’m kinda in the middle of something here.”

“About that team…” Ryan said, voice low and dark and gravelly. He was with someone then, someone who could overhear his part of the conversation. Figured.

“I’m not just dropping everything because you call, Mr. Dark, Tall and Skulking,” Meg retorted, rolling her eyes. She put her foot against the chair and pulled on the rope, throwing her weight into it to tighten the bindings properly. Her captive audience _humphed_ in pain. Meg walked around the chair, holding up a finger for him to see in the typical gesture of _just a moment_. “No, I don’t care you’re the Vagabond. I’m _working_.”

“Ah,” Ryan said, and there was amusement colouring his voice as he clued in to her casual namedrop. “That kinda work, huh?”

“Yes,” Meg returned shortly. “So if you could hold for just a minute-”

“Sure thing, Doll.”

She muted her phone, dropping it onto the table next to an assortment of knives and thumb screws and other fun torture equipment. Not meant to be used, but it made for a hell of an impact.

“Sorry, friend from work. You know how it is,” she told her captive cheerfully. “Our timetable just moved up, I’m sorry. I wanted to start slow, you know. Shame.”

Meg leaned forward and ripped the tape off, the muffled babbling and whimpering becoming audible. His eyes were wide, his face pale and scared. He held himself stiffly as he gasped for breath, and Meg watched him indifferently, reaching out to inspect one of the bigger knives on her tray, a long, serrated blade.

“I’ll- I’ll tell you everything, please, I promise, everything you want to know, just please-”

Meg sighed in a put upon manner, pouting at her captive. “But I wanted to play,” she whined, then pretended to give in ungracefully as he spewed names and locations and more than she needed to complete the job.  She killed him quickly, after, and picked up the phone not ten minutes later.

“Sorry for the wait,” she called out cheerfully as she unmuted the phone, pulling the mask and gloves off and blending in with the crowd of early morning commuters at the bus stop. “You were saying…?”

“A team, Doll. We’re going after _him_.”

“Him,” she repeated as she held up the bus ticket for the driver to see as she boarded. There was no doubt who Ryan was talking about. “Are you sure?”

“A hacker, a hitter, a thief, and a grifter,” Ryan rattled off as she slid into a seat by the backdoor. “A pilot, an explosives expert, a sniper-”

“Sounds like quite the colourful group,” Meg interrupted him before he got too far into his spiel. She already knew where this was going. “What’s in it for me, Rye?”

A pause, and she watched the streets go by, taking her further into the city. Her suitcase was packed and ready at the hotel, she’d just have to take a shower and switch out of her current clothes. The ride to the airport would take about forty minutes, and then it’d depend on where Ryan needed her.

Because they both knew this was a foregone conclusion.

“Revenge?” he tried, and Meg snorted. “One of the guys has a really British accent?”

The bus stopped, and Meg checked the name. Three more to go before she had to get off.

“How British are we talking, exactly?” she asked, deciding to humour Ryan. She should’ve never told him how much she liked watching British actors for their stupid sexy accents.

“A really ridiculous one,” Ryan deadpanned. There was a squawk in the background on the other end of the line, followed by muffled laughter and shouting. “So, are you in, Doll?”

“Did you really think I was gonna say no?” Meg inquired lightly, and Ryan chuckled. She switched the phone to the other ear. “Where to?”

“Los Santos,” Ryan answered promptly, his voice all business again. “I can pick you up from the airport.”

“I’ll let you know when my plane lands.” Los Santos wasn’t too far, she thought. A three hours flight, maybe. “And Ryan?”

“Yeah, Doll?”

Meg paused, staring out the window. Dark alleys filled with trash passed by, and she remembered the fiery warmth of an explosion, and the body that pulled her back, stepped in to shield her.

“Stay safe, Rye.”

“Will do.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback always welcome!
> 
> Want to read my stories early? Ask me how on [tumblr](http://miss-ingno.tumblr.com/)!


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